


Joy Is Ever on the Wing

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coaches, Cold Weather, Community: wizardwank, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, Fear of Discovery, Improvised Sex Toys, Libraries, M/M, Masturbation, Memories, Public Masturbation, Quidditch, Sex Toys, Sports, Students, Studying, Theft, Wings, snitch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-31
Updated: 2004-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Snitch in his hand struggled to get free, and Draco gave a savage little smile at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joy Is Ever on the Wing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely betas [](http://cinzia.livejournal.com/profile)[**cinzia**](http://cinzia.livejournal.com/) and [](http://littlemimm.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://littlemimm.livejournal.com/)**littlemimm**. Apologies to Milton for the nicked line.

"Half an hour ago you couldn't catch your breath out on the field, let alone the Snitch, and now you've stolen it from the Ravenclaws. You bloody ninny!" Draco glowered at the Slytherin Seeker, whose triumphant smile faded quickly. "I always suspected you'd taken too many Bludgers to the head, but now I know it. Give it here," he snapped, taking the Snitch. "We've already been humiliated by the blue-wearing boffins, the last thing we need is Madam Hooch berating us for post-match rule breaking."

Ducking out of the dressing rooms, Draco wondered to himself for the sixth time that week exactly what infirmity of mind had made him agree to help coach the Slytherin Quidditch team. The impending N.E.W.Ts were time-consuming enough.

He intended to seek out Madame Hooch and return the Snitch, but realized that meant he would have to bow and scrape and apologize on behalf of his player protégés. No, they would have to get themselves out of this tight spot on their own. The Snitch in his hand struggled to get free, and Draco gave a savage little smile at it. While the Snitch would be an enjoyable diversion, it would be of no help to him when it came to finishing a foot of parchment on sleeping draughts.

The icy October wind whipped sleet at him, and he quickened his pace in order to get to the library without getting soaked to the bone.

 

The library was quiet, but Madam Pince still swept up and down the aisles, seeming to be looking for someone to berate. Draco waited until she was out of sight, then made his way to one of the reading tables furthest back in the cavernous room.

He idly twirled the golden sphere in his hand as he sat down to read. Snitch-stealing or not, the essay couldn't wait any longer. The library was cold at this time of year, and he welcomed wearing his winter robes, as that meant he could keep the Snitch with him without arousing suspicion. He gave a pleased little shudder as the wings of the Snitch brushed the inside of his wrist.

His Snitch now. In his mind, he was back to being Seeker, grinning derisively at Potter, now defeated. However, this wasn't about Quidditch any longer. That part of the rivalry had ended at the same time as their respective innings as Seekers for their House teams. The rest of the rivalry wouldn't end until Potter was utterly defeated, down on his knees in the dust in front of him. Fair chance that Potter would look far better like that, he ruefully thought.

The wispy wings of the Snitch fluttered rapidly, batting at his fingers. He hadn't thought the delicate sphere could feel so frail, especially after he had chased and caught it so many times on the Quidditch pitch. Then again, he had always been gloved.

The feel of the madly fluttering wings thrummed through his body, and that stupid, traitorous flesh responded. He grew increasingly bewildered at how little it took to set off every inappropriate impulse. For Merlin's sake, he was only holding a Snitch! Hardly anything to be aroused by. And he was in the library, of all places, reading a dry-as-dust book on potions and struggling to find the facts he needed.

The table was littered with small pieces of parchment, earlier efforts to accomplish something even halfway coherent. The book that lay open on the desk in front of him must have been one used frequently, and the pages on love and lust potions were well-thumbed. There were no potions for stilling lust, he noted. Apparently, the only cures for that were cold showers. Not that they would help either, as all he could see was Harry, his hair slicked back, rainwater wet, the damp robes clinging to his skin. The tightness in his groin increased further.

He shook his head. What was he doing? He gave a groan and buried his head in his folded arms, knocking his fist against the table. The Snitch in his hand gave a desperate flutter, its wings rustling unexpectedly loudly. He thrust it into the folds of his robes, cursing softly under his breath. It wouldn't do to get caught now.

The Snitch twirled in his hand, frantically trying to get free, but he only clenched his hand tighter around it. He didn't dare look down, instead he stared at the pictures in the book in front of him. Static pictures, wines and flowers twining around the hand-lettered descriptions.

The Snitch went into a frenzy, twisting and beating its wings. Draco shifted, suddenly aware of the soft thrum of the Snitch against his thigh. Like fingers, stroking up his thigh, like a gloved hand... He let his other hand slide inside his robes, and fumbled his trousers open one-handed. Thank Merlin the library was so cold he had to wear his winter robes. The calluses on his hands added to the friction, and he gave a complacent sigh as he felt his cock twitch and harden in his grip.

He needed to take a pause from studying, and what was the harm in winding down a little? Library or not, the privacy was far better here than in the common room, where every session constantly risked being interrupted by either Crabbe or Goyle, or worse yet, one of the Slytherin girls who had taken to liberally abusing the permission to enter the boys' dormitories. Also, if any of the girls discovered that he had indeed appropriated the Snitch, there would be no end to the hassling. Pansy Parkinson would take the lead, and her loyal clique would soon join in. As he tried to bring the image to life in his mind's eye, all the girls had dark hair and green eyes, and sported a lightning-bolt scar on their foreheads. He concentrated harder, picking out a single girl, but she soon shifted, turning into his nemesis. Potter. Always Potter. The dark hair turned blacker still, until he saw Snape. The sneer was familiar, but the glint in the black eyes was altogether new. It seemed like hunger, and Draco found himself rather alarmed by the fact that it was arousing more than frightening.

The wings of the Snitch felt like chill fingers, quickly and lightly brushing the very tip of his cock. Snape's hands would be cold, he thought disjointedly. His hips lifted of their own volition, and he felt his chair tip backwards slightly. Best be careful lest he fall over and land with a crash. Madame Pince, not to mention half of the other students in the library, would rush over to see what was going on, and what would he say then? That yes, he had been wanking when his chair somehow tipped over?

There was a murmur of voices from a nearby painting, and he looked up guiltily. However, the painting was merely admonishing a stray dog from another painting, and, with any luck, hadn't even noted Draco's presence. He couldn't vouch for the other paintings, and there was an unpleasant little tingle down his spine at the thought of how many paintings might be watching, not to mention how many books might be eavesdropping.

The tighter he held the Snitch, the more wildly it fluttered; and by contrast, the looser his hold was, the slower the wingbeats would be. The wings were damp already, dragging slightly at his skin, like a raspy tongue licking the throbbing flesh. He set his fingers over the wings, forcing them to close tighter around his cock. Not so much different from setting a coercing hand onto a head in his lap, was it? With a little effort of will, he could imagine it was Potter's mouth on his cock. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and spread his legs further. The position was uncomfortable, his hand trapped in the many folds of shirt and robe and trousers, but he couldn't stop halfway through.

He leaned his head back, resting it against the cold stone of the windowsill. If he squinted, the illustrations of the book in front of him looked like small humans, intertwined in a black-inked orgy. Pity the pictures had decided to stay still.

He pressed the knuckles of the hand still holding the Snitch to his mouth to muffle the groan that threatened to escape him. The shadows had grown steadily longer, and the light filtering in through the high stained-glass window behind him had changed its hue to the cold shades of moonlight. The Snitch, what little he could see of it from between his clenched fingers, was now silver rather than gold, and the wings looked like they were spun frost. It was the very antithesis of cold, however, and it nearly burned. Flesh-warm metal, pressed against the bared skin of his hip. He conscientiously rearranged the wide folds of his robes, bunching them around his waist to hide his present condition. The long sleeve brushed his erection, and he gave a little whimper deep in his throat.

He was so close, teetering on the edge, and he squeezed the Snitch so hard he thought he was going to break it. The long wings flapped wildly, rustling against the fabric of his robes. In the same moment he heard measured footsteps nearby, and he wildly cast his gaze around. There was a brief flash of black robes and a half-second glimpse of Snape's pale face, his black eyes narrowed as they took in Draco. He could have sworn there was a shadow of a smile on Snape's lips, and that the beetle-black gaze dropped for an instant to Draco's lap before catching his eye again.

That was all it took. His fingers clenched convulsively, and though it should have taken all the arousal out of him, the near-discovery jolted him over the edge. He bent his head quickly, biting the tip of his tongue and tasting blood. The beginnings of a blush burned on his cheeks as he felt his hand grow slick. It was such an incredibly foolish idea, all of it, but there was no way of reversing it now. As he dared to lift his head, the space where Snape had stood was empty. He had no way of knowing how long Snape had stood there, if he had at all, as the only things he could hear at present were his loud heartbeats and the uneven breathing that was his own. The hand that held the Snitch felt numb, though he could still feel the golden sphere writhe in his sweat-slicked palm. He opened his hand, letting the Snitch fall to the tabletop. Instead of taking flight, the Snitch coiled its wings loosely around itself and rocked gently back and forth, looking like a grotesque metal eyeball. The wings looked like makeshift eyelids, fringed with lashes, and suddenly they shifted, overlapping for a moment.

The bloody thing had the audacity to _wink_ at him.


End file.
